Matthew
by Sardonic Kender Smile
Summary: What he loved best about her was how she said his name...but now she is gone. Now he shall never hear it again. A MatthewxLeila ficlet.


_A/N: Hey, everybody. I know I haven't had time to work on any of my multi-chaptered stories—or The Epic Works, I've started calling them, since it takes so dang long to write them—but I really missed writing for this fandom. So I thought up this lil' one-shot and wrote it down before the idea escaped me. It's not really short enough to be a drabble, but I guess it's the closest I'll ever get. You all know how much I love me my obnoxiously long chapters :-P._

_Anyway, this ficlet takes place just after Eliwood and co. return from the Dread Isle—aka Leila just died! Gasp!_

_**Matthew **_

There were a lot of things that he was going to miss about her.

He longed for it all—the way she laughed when he jumped out at her in an attempt to make her scream, the way her lips moved against his own, the way she walked when she thought nobody was looking, the way she bowed her head to hide her dancing eyes behind her hair when he was bent on giving her a compliment--but what Matthew knew he was going to miss the most was the way she said his name.

_Matthew._

That had been the first time she had ever said it—coupled with a brisk, businesslike nod as she walked beside him during their first day of training together. It wasn't a very eventful thing to remember, but Matthew remembered it nonetheless. Soon she was saying it more often, calling out orders of camaraderie or warnings of traps ahead—"Matthew!" And he would respond by cheerfully calling "Leila!" back to her, tasting the sweet word on his tongue each time, and causing her to exasperatedly grumble his name again.

He could remember their first mission together, how she had greeted him: a hello first, and then his name—"Matthew"—as she placed a hand upon his shoulder.

He could remember that she had never been fond of his "hobbies"…namely, stealing things from other people, waiting until they noticed they were missing something, and then sneakily returning it. And laughing when they began to think they were going mad, of course. Leila had thought his little trick funny, at first—when he had played it on _other_ people. But then there was the day that he had taken her notebook, the one she carried with her everywhere to write down notes in a secret code she had developed herself. She nearly tore Ostia apart looking for it, and when Matthew had tossed it upon her cot, as casually as you please, she was beside herself with fury. Not that Matthew minded—he couldn't have read any of it if he tried. Except for that one page, way in the back, in which she had forgone her code and just scribbled a name—_his _name—over and over in the margins. He also liked the way her face turned red when she screamed it:

"MATTHEW!"

He could remember the mission when they were hopping from rooftop to rooftop in a tightly-packed Etrurian city, trying to stay hidden from the men who had been tipped that there were Ostian spies in the area. He had slipped and fallen—he could still see Leila stretching out a hand to catch him, still hear the desperation in her voice: "No! Matthew!"

He missed her hand and continued to fall, expecting his end to slam into him any second…but Elimine had decreed that he should land on a soft, cloth canopy extending above a doorway. He could faintly hear Leila being harshly reprimanded for her outburst. Following the soft voices, he scampered back up to the roof and pounced on her, clamping his arms tightly around her waist. She turned in his embrace so she could throw her arms around him in turn, once more exclaiming his name—but this time in a whisper, this time with relief so vibrant that it almost deafened him. She continued to mumble his name over and over into his shirt as he laughed softly and stroked her pink hair. He wanted to jest, wanted to tell her he had "fallen" for her, wanted to say he had "slipped up" during the mission…but he was rather enjoying the way she clung to him, and the steady chant of "Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…"

He could remember how he kissed her, how her tiny frame fit so perfectly in his arms, how—if he held her tenderly enough—she would murmur and moan against his lips: "Oh, Matthew."

He could remember the one mission they had been sent on _alone_…the close quarters they had been forced to share while they stayed undercover, the one cot—Matthew's cot—that Ostia had provided them with, seeing as it had been cutting costs and _obviously _didn't realize that its spies were of two different sexes. Matthew had settled himself in for bed and patted the spot next to him with a wide grin. He could remember the way her eyes flashed, the warning in her voice as she muttered, "Matthew!" …Although Leila did end up sleeping in Matthew's cot that night.

Matthew slept on the floor.

He could remember the sorrow in her eyes when she approached him that fateful day to tell him—to tell him that she was being sent on a mission to infiltrate the Black Fang. A mission he was not a part of. "Matthew…"

She didn't need to say anything more. The twisted pain on her usually calm face was enough.

He could remember the day she left—one last tight embrace, one last kiss, one last whisper: "Matthew." He had been so full of hope, as he watched her ride off…he had made up his mind, resolved within his heart, to ask her to marry him as soon as she returned. He couldn't wait to spend every day of the rest of his life sharing her laugh, feeling her kiss, watching her walk, noting her eyes…

…Hearing his name.

Of course, she was long gone, now. Matthew leaned his head back against the railing of Fargus' pirate ship and closed his eyes, smiling bitterly. There was one other thing that he could remember…just in the first moment of consciousness, after he had aroused himself from a nightmare that very morning. He could remember a figure cloaked in black, a sharp voice ordering a death, a pair of knives glinting in the dim light, and—right before the horrific spray of blood that ended his dream—he thought he could remember a voice utter, with all the love and sorrow and desperation the world could possibly hold: "Matthew".

_Matthew._

"Matthew."

"Matthew! Hey, Matthew!"

The thief's eyes snapped open as he saw Hector coming towards him, the young lord's long strides carrying him quickly across the deck of the ship.

"Yes, young master?" he asked, springing to his feet with a carefree smile.

Hector peered at the spy with concern. "Are you alright? Didn't you hear me calling your name?"

Matthew couldn't stand it—he burst out laughing, so loudly that Hector took a step backwards in perturbation.

"Oh, Lord Hector!" he sighed when the fit had subsided. Tears brimmed in his eyes, spilling over his cheeks as he turned his unseeing gaze to the sky. "I shall never hear my name again!"

* * *

_A/N: Well, okay. To me it feels a bit rushed and a bit choppy, but considering that I'm tired and this is just a ficlet to tide me over, let's pretend that I did it all on purpose xD. I did end it there completely on purpose, however—the last line came to me before any of the rest of the story. Matthew does seem to me like the type who would laugh at the same time that he cries—not only because he's usually so cheerful, but because I doubt he would want anyone to see him actually WEEP. _

_Anyways! There you go, yet ANOTHER random fic brought to you by Kender. Blasted plot bunnies. Well, please review, whether you liked it or not…as I start to explore new techniques and genres, I am also starting to appreciate other opinions A LOT. _


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